Where stars glow darkest
by anncathrinskywalker
Summary: The Enterprise is ordered to the edge of Federation territory, and finds hell there. While trying to uncover the true motive of their mission, danger spreads its claws to crewmembers. It appears their fate will be tied with what they find on the planet's surface.
1. Chapter 1

"A _month?"_

Dr. Crusher stared back at him, eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead. "Are you _serious?"_

"Yes. Doctor", Picard ensured her rather hastily, very much contrasting his custom of staying calm during such conversations. "I can understand if you are shocked, it's truly devastating news, but please lower your voice a bit. You have strict orders not to reveal any of this information or the results of your upcoming research to anybody but me, not even Medical Staff."

"Then how am I supposed to work?", she asked with a from, eying him sceptically. "I am not an expert an Xenoimmunology."

"Starfleet thinks otherwise", Picard answered almost in a whisper, "I suppose they based their decision on your research and the throughout report you dedicated to Dr Quace."

She mumbled something about that happening long ago and folded her arms across her chest. For awhile she did not look at Picard, but preferred staring at him and her the surface of her desk in turns, gnawing her lip. He had learned to decipher that as a gesture of fast, critical thinking and that it could result in a fury outburst of her legendary temper if he interrupted her. Instead he, too, enjoyed the silence, for her office was one of the few rooms aboard where the ship's engines could not be heard, not even distinctly. He almost felt as if something was missing without it.

"So if I am officially bound not to reveal the nature of my research, therefore going to work alone"; she shot a fiercely questioning look at him, which was bordering on the threat of disobedience, "I would welcome a little head-start of information related to our mission before we arrive."

He suppressed a sigh. He did it without any difficulty, for such matters of self-control were indispensable to him as a diplomat. "I am sorry, doctor, I can't grant you access to any data before our arrival."

"And why would that be?", she asked, unfolding her arms, leaning toward him.

"Several reasons, actually", he answered. "First, you will receive special security clearance for the duration of our mission."

"At which level? As far as I know, as full Commander next step of clearance would mean heaving me upon the rank of a Captain. Only concerning access to data stored in Starfleet database", she delineated, the corner of her mouth rising noticeably, "But that's still an awful lot of new material to feed my never-ending curiosity, isn't it?"

Deciding it would serve him better not to comment on that last statement, he quickly answered, "Yes and no, Beverly."

Truly puzzled for the first time, she waited for him to explain his statement.

"Starfleet has introduced a new category of security clearance recently. One in-between those for rank of Commander and Captain", he explained. "You will shortly be assigned special security codes. That will grant you access to the files containing data about this mission. Hypothetically all other data available which, too, has been classified on that level."

"And 'hypothetically' means...?"

"First, those codes loose their validation as soon as we have completed our mission", he delineated, then hesitated for a moment.

Orders from Starfleet Command had also included the wording "or aborted" following this statement. He had not noticed that at first sight, not given it special consideration. He made a mental note to check upon any further hints toward Starfleet's estimates of their success as soon as possible.

"Second, this category has just been introduced, which means one the one hand, only a fistful of people have so far been informed about the change and fewer been assigned their new additional codes, on the other hand, however", he cleared his throat, fully conscious she would instantly grasp the meaning of the information he was about to reveal, "However, this is the first mission of which all related data has been labelled classified that strictly."

She leaned back in her chair. Silence hung between them like a destabilized warp core reaching critical status.

"You see, Doctor, as soon as you have been assigned additional security clearance soon after our arrival", he finally spoke up again, "You may gather all data you need from the Deep Space Station's computer."

"Does that mean it's not even laid down in standard Federation database?"

"No, Doctor, I am afraid not."

The core seemed to prevail just before breaching point now.

"Do you have any idea why this is necessary, Jean-Luc?", deliberately using his first name.

He allowed himself a deep breath, taken visible. His grey eyes found hers, while a vague understanding began to take shape behind them.

"Not yet, Beverly", he replied slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

"Captain's Log, Stardate 45677.4

The Enterprise has arrived in the Algeron System and is currently docking to Starbase Deep Space Three, before we will leave shortly for the orbit of Algeron IV. I am looking forward to my meeting with Captain Utoba who is Commander in chief and acts as Starfleet special operative during this entire mission. I hope he will enlighten me a great deal of the nature and reason for the veil of darkness in which Starfleet Command kept us so far."

The Captain hesitated, wondering whether to add a comment about how this amount of secrecy rose a deep-routed sense of alarm in him. Despite the fact that he could not rightfully call this sensation 'well-reasoned', he wondered whether this description would become accurate all too soon after his meeting with Utoba.

Picard knew almost nothing about him. True, he had been the first Bajoran to rise to the rank of a Captain – the highest position a member of his race had accomplished in Starfleet up until now. Fellow captains whose personal opinion held in rather high regards had described him as a very ambitious, down-to-earth commander, but first aspect one was forced to conclude in light of his achievements and second seemed an almost indigenous character trait for Bajorans. Still, there must have been something special about him, otherwise he could not have risen to the position he nowadays occupied. Only the most naïve and innocent Starfleet officers believed in mere scientific accomplishments to suffice as their key character trait for a successful career in Starfleet. Or, that was to be honest with himself, Picard thought, a career in Starfleet at all.

Picard withdrew his hand from the computer's display, rose from his desk and strode for the door to the bridge. His mind half-way in the meeting with the Senior Staff already, he suddenly turned. The vague idea that had popped to the surface of his conscience in Dr. Crusher's office had re-appeared, but this time clear enough for him to grasp part of it. Witnessing it being translated first into words and then a possible course of action in his mind, he seated himself again.

Instead of a personal comment he added a precise description of his entire orders to the Log entry, though carefully avoiding including key terms such as the name of the Admiral from which he had received his orders, or any other of the few specific data placed at his disposal. And, which he hoped would never turn out to be of any importance, stating specifically that it was a description though not labeled such at the beginning of the entry.


	3. Chapter 3

The entire Senior Staff had seated themselves before Picard entered end lowered himself comfortably in the chair at the head of the table.

"Thanks for coming", he began, "I am sorry that you had to be kept in the dark during our journey. I am further sorry to say that I am bound not to reveal any specific detail about out it..."

Deanna allowed herself to let her mind wander while the Captain explained the unusual tight bonds Starfleet towed him into silence with. It had become almost a ritual among the staff, allowing each of them to express their possible concerns or frustration about the bureaucratic, less-than-pragmatic approach of Starfleet. The explanation accidentally served the purpose of clearing their minds off all unnecessary, distracting first reactions concerning new orders, so that they could fully focus on their task lying unavoidably ahead.

She silently wondered why he had summoned them if he was under orders not to reveal anything.

"... Starfleet Command had a very clear opinion on this matter", he now stated, pulling Deanna out of her thoughts. He has looked firmly at Worf when he had said it. The Counselor assumed she had simply missed his question. He grumbled audibly. Obviously being responsible for security with the Enterprise stationed so close at Federation space's most critical borderlines seemed not at all appealing to him.

However, years of experience with Picard in senior staff meetings drew her attention toward another aspect of his answer. Something hardly related to the content rather than the wording content.

"Isn't that a remarkable, Sir?", she raised her voice. The heads of the Senior Staff turned simultaneously to her, making it look as if in one single swift movement. "Starfleet Command unanimously expressing a decision, with no doubts or alternative courses of action mentioned? Not even a hint at an Admiral's slightly different personal opinion?

Picard smiled warmly. "Indeed it is, Counselor."

No trace of unease or tension had crept into his eyes or voice. Yet Deanna's empathic sensed were vibrating in these very emotions concentrated behind his facial expression. It was even more than that, she felt, but before she could identify the sensation, Picard turned to his CMO.

"Dr. Crusher has been temporarily released as CMO of the Enterprise", he announced, and Deanna lost track even of his most superficial emotions when the staff's surprise flooded across her. "Dr. Selar is going to fill in for the duration of our mission."

Six heads nodded in acknowledgment.

During a brief silence, another, quite unfamiliar feeling blossomed behind Picards eyes. Asked to describe it, Deanna would have pictured it as a jongleur dancing on a slim rope hundresd yars above the floor – without a security web.

"I have asked Mr Data to provide us with an overview about the current situation of the Algeron system."

While Data rose from his seat, Riker brushed his beard with thumb and finger spread to what looked like the letter V, a sign that he was thinking rapidly. His hand rested beneath his chin when he spoke. "We aren't going to stay at Deep Space Three, Sir?"

"Starfleet has denied my request for more specific information, Number One", Picard answered, fully aware that he was closely monitored through the piercingly blue eyes of his Second-In-Command. "I am afraid Captain Utoba has more information right now about what we are supposed to do here than I do."

They exchanged a meaningful look. Both their unease and annoyance were as clear to Deanna as if they had voiced them aloud.

Data now cleared his throat, something Deanna heard him do for the very first time. Before he began his report, she thought he hesitated an instant, as if gathering data about how his new variation of behavior patterns was acknowledged.

Operating controls so that a fitting image would appear on the screen, he said, "As you can see, The Algeron system lies at the tail of Federation space.", he pointed out, his right hand roughly following the horizontal-u-shaped borderlines, "Its position between the Romulan Neutral Zone, covering about a half of its three-dimensional borderlines, and the Cardassian Empire, covering about a fourth, makes it a most valuable and vulnerable Federation ally."

Deanna struggled to imagine how this could have been meant, then arranged herself with a picture of a ball cut in half, the right hand sight of its hull representing the borderlines to Neutral space. If one cut the remaining half again in an horizontal line, one part could be taken into account as directly neighboring Cardassian space.

"However, since the Bajorans have decided to join the UFP", Data continued, apparently drawing the picture so that new parts labeled 'Bajoran space' appeared at the left hand side of the screen, while most Federation space vanished at the right hand side, "The Algeron system has become even more valuable."

"It's a tunnel", Riker pointed out.

The Android gave his image a neutral glance, which the staff had learned to recognize as an expression of greatest curiosity. "One could indeed phrase it like that", he agreed.

"And if my memory's not completely useless", LaForge added, "Bajoran's are still the only Federation member neighboring the Gamma Quadrant."

"That is correct as well, Geordi."

"How long has the Algeron system been a member of the Federation?", the engineer demanded to know.

"After decades of civil war, a planetarian government has first been elected at Stardate 42447.1, which equals three years, four months in standard Federation time", the Android pointed out. "It has become a Federation member only one month later, since the existence of such had been the only obstacle left before the system fulfilled all requirements for a membership."

"You would not want to be seated in space like that without a good set of most efficient quantum torpedos", Riker mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear him.

Data chose to ignore the addition this time. "Its unique position has fostered the system's development as a center of inter-galactical and inter-racial trade. This state is enhanced furthermore by the fact that the government currently refuses to grant traders a legal guest status or similar, thus excluding them from Federation jurisdiction. An extradition treaty has been successfully negotiated with the Cardassian Empire. Any attempts to achieve an agreement with the Romulan Empire, however, have not lead to any of such so far."

"A Ferengi's hot and wet dream", LaForge commented on that.

"Negotiations with the Romulan Empire have been hampered by the fact that they claim the entire system to be a rightful part of their territory, as according to them the first settlers had been Romulans, which were later robbed or … by humanoid settlers, long before even Bajorans discovered the planets in the outer rim."

"Understandable", Riker raised his voice again. "Facing both the Romluans and Cardassians, Bajorans would not stand a chance. They were prisoners again within a matter of weeks. Makes Romulus catch two bird with one stone: Without Bajor as an ally we have no access to the Delta Quadrant, thus being prevented from a vital area of exploration. If we assume that the Neutral Zone and Federation space prevent Romulans from taking over Cardassia, direct border between them would mean a huge extend of their territory in the long run." Without Picard knowing, Riker had repeated almost the exact wording of Admiral Hayes evaluation of the Algeron system stored in the ship's database. "I see why it had to be the Enterprise coming out here. Sending the flagship seems appropriate to address any matter linked to the system."

The Captain nodded in silent approval. Deanna sensed he had an expectation, yet not certainty confirmed by Riker's summary, and a heavy load lifted off his shoulders. The jongleur she had pictured earlier seemed to have reached a safe harbour at the end of the rope, and was now looking back at the way he had come with his heart racing so fast it hurt.

Data ended his presentation and went back to take his seat between Riker and LaForge.

"So we have been sent here to hunt down Romulan smugglers?", Worf grumbled from the far end of the same side.

"I cannot answer that question, Mr Worf", Picard replied, "As I said, Starfleet could not be convinced to loosen the tight bounds of secrecy a bit here."

This time, Deanna noticed, his serious facial expression contrasted his prominent feeling of relieve. His delight shone out all other emotions in the room for one moment. Bathing in it, Deanna noticed another notion of – was it possible?- pride on them within.

"Seems a bit exaggerated, if you ask me", Riker addressed the chief of security. "Mr Data, have we picked up any unusual reading so far when we arrived here?"

The First officer had issued the question rather out of habit.

"Indeed we have, Sir", the Android answered, raising again from his chair.

"The regular long range scan has shown other results concerning the planet Algeron IV in the outer rim than stored in the computer's database", he stated, repeating the procedure of filling the screen with one supporting image, "The planet was supposed to be inhabited by about seven colonies spread across the surface." At his touch, five markings appeared on the surface of what seemed a class-M planet. Two colonies were obviously located on the opposite half of it and not visible.

"According to Starfleet, these were assumed to be the oldest and most traditional colonies remaining. I downloaded the most recent information via uplink to starbase Deep Space Three. Scans conducted by a fleet of Defiant-class star cruisers about 37 weeks ago show that these colonies had been host to about five point seven million people, spread across eighty point four square kilometers."

At his touch of the control panel, one of the buttons on the image stretched to about five times its size, while the others did not change considerably. "This presentation reflects the distribution of inhabitants across the surface", he explained. "About ninety-five percent of the population live in the center or suburbs of the capital. Federation operatives decided to call it Algeron IV as well, since the natives had no name for their city. The colonies discarded further away are considered negligible and have not been named. They are referred by coordinates if necessary."

"Considering the overall position in space of the system, villages without executive force or close attachment to the main city...", Geordi began slowly.

"Romulans must have found it ridiculously easy to set foot on our territory", Riker followed the engineer's line of thoughts, and his expression suddenly seemed as grim as Worf's, who added, "How could Starfleet permit any of such leaks in security?"

"You don't build up a fence with a door in it, and leave that door wide open", LaForge finished his statement.

"Please be careful with your conclusions, Number One", Picard interrupted. "Starfleet has not recorded any evidence of Romulan presence in Federation space."

Across the table, Deanna watched the edge of Dr Crushers mouth twitch hardly noticeably. Her short expression was accompanied by an irritating rush of entertainment. The Counselor, thought, thought she got what the CMO was amused about: Picard had merely stated that they were currently not at war with Romulus. It fitted Beverly's sense of humor very much to laugh at such an understatement, even if only to herself.

"To sum up my analysis", Data took the lead of the discussion again, "The situation on Algeron IV has indeed been evaluated as tactically highly invulnerable. However, long range sensors indicate that this can hardly be the reason for our requested presence."

Riker raised one eyebrow in question. It seemed to take the Android much longer to figure out an appropriate interpretation of this expression than if the Second-In-Command had verbalized his intention.

"Sensors have registered a significant change in the number of inhabitants compared to the most recent research of Deep Space Three's Defiant class vessels", he delineated. "According to our scan about two hours ago, the total number of life signs is currently seven."

Silence crashed upon the with the force of an anti-matter-explosion.

Their shock threw Deanna back against the back of her chair. Senses blurred with mingled grief and confusion, she closed her eyes. She took several steadying breaths and started counting. At 'ten' she re-opened her eyes. Dr. Crusher was giving her a slightly concerned look, but withdrew her gaze when the Counselor nodded. Her friend seemed to understand that she was all right.

"How?" Rikers voice cut through the tense atmosphere, slicing it in parts that were easier to digest.

"Sensor readings allow no sufficient conclusion to answer that question", Data replied. His neutral voice felt half-calming and half as disturbing as the news.

Deanna saw Riker exchange a quick look with Picard, but was not certain whether anyone else had noticed.

"What do we know about the current situation on the surface, Commander?", the First officer asked.

"Our information is limited. It does not allow any satisfying hypothesis to be drawn concerning the sudden changes in the biosphere. Former sudden rapid decrease in numbers of individual belonging to a planet's population suggest either a well-planned long-term evacuation or natural catastrophe."

"Sounds both improbable", Worf grumbled.

"Starfleet records hold no reports about an evacuation of this extend", Data confirmed the staff's worst assumption, "Certain variables would recommend to involve the Enterprise in such an operation." The Android paused to offer anyone a chance to ask for further explanation, When no one did, he proceeded in his presentation, "Therefore a natural catastrophe appears to be the more likely possibility."

"Any idea of what happened, Mr Data?"

"Not concerning the cause of the population perishing", the Android answered.

"But?"

"These readings suggest an explanation of what happened to the mass of humanoid lifeforms no longer registered as life signs by our sensors. Sensors have detected an increase of carbon-oxygenate gases along by about five hundred and twenty-five percent in the atmosphere. Furthermore, the temperature in the atmosphere differs from our recording in the data about point seven degree Celsius. It has risen from an average of seventeen point one to seventeen point eight in average."

"And that means?", Worf spat out.

"They've turned the planet into a crematorium", Riker voiced the horrible conclusion.


	4. Chapter 4

"Certainly not the exact wording I would have chosen", Data added, "But in essence, the Commander is correct. Those readings indicate that a mass of several tons of carbon-based biological matter has been diverted into the atmosphere."

"Burnt, that is to say."

"Dissolving the inter-molecular connections on a subatomic level by exposing them to above-average temperature is a legitimate hypothesis."

It took the staff a while to fully take this in.

"Who are the seven survivors, then?", Worf regained his composure.

"Their readings are humanoid...", Data replied, finally re-seating himself at the table. An icy, dangerously pointed emotion emerged from Dr Crushers conscience. She gave her friend a sharp look. Beverly bit her lower lip, obviously waiting for Data to finish his sentence.

"... And life signs are stable. Beyond that, we now nothing about them. As we did not pick up any atmospheric distortions, it seems there has been an artificial one. Maybe even of deliberate creation."

"What's the status of the biological variety on the surface?", she asked.

"According to sensor readings, it was not affected by the assumed natural catastrophe."

"Do you have any explanation, Doctor?", Picard addressed her. Deanna could almost taste his concentration.

Crusher hesitated. "I am not sure, Captain. I would like to review the entire readings, if you don't mind."

"Do you detect any flaws in my analysis?" From another officer, Troi would have expected a sense of annoyance, maybe even insult. Again she found his entire lack of emotion more disturbing than the internal processes among the actually breathing staff.

"No, Data. I just would like to disprove a hypothesis."

"Mr Data, transfer a copy of our sensor readings to sickbay", Picard ordered.

She nodded shortly.

"Mr Data, keep a lock on those seven humanoid life signs", he continued. "Ready for emergency transport at all time."

"Directly to sickbay, I would recommend", Crusher quickly added. "Keeping them in preventive quarantine seems wise as well."

"I'm dying to hear what they can tell us", Riker let slip.

All heads turned to him.

The First Officer put on his straightest poker face at warp-speed.

"I should hope not", Picard stated dryly.

Again Crusher seemed the only one truly amused at that, though she hid it well.

The Captain removed all humor from his expression and leaned toward them, folding his hands on the polished surface. "I need not to remind you that the Enterprise is located in most dangerous waters right now. I must ask for your utmost vigilance and concentration, no matter of the task that may lie ahead. Dismissed."

Rising from her seat, Deanna's thoughts were still with Data's toneless voice. She made a mental note to either get used to it or teach him means of non-verbal communication.

In contrast to his fellow senior staff members, Riker remained where he was.

"Captain, a word please."

Picard seemed entirely unsurprised by the request. "Number One?"

Riker braced himself for his proposal. "Sir, I recommend we send a shuttle with a complete away team down to Algeron IV", he suggested. "To find out what happened. Who's responsible for that carnage."

"So far, we have no contrary evidence that anything but a natural catastrophe ravaged the population."

"Which we assume only because we could exclude a planned evacuation", Riker repeated Data's explanation, "Not because we know for sure that we are dealing with a natural phenomenon."

They left the sentence dangling above the table for a moment.

"If this has been engineered...", Picard began, fully aware that Will was following his line of thought.

The third silence that evening crept into the room, yet this time on soft pawns like a cat. They let it stride around their legs, until Riker spoke again.

"We need to know what those survivors can tell us", he demanded firmly. "And as long as we have not been ordered to stay out as soon as we arrived here..."

"All right, Number One, prepare a shuttle", Picard answered, "A skeleton crew. As you said, we don't know what's out there. I don't want to put anyone of us at additional and unnecessary risk. Order the pilot to keep an emergency lock on everyone at all time."

"The survivors, too?"

The Captain hesitated a moment. "How long do you think it would take Mr Data to re-program the shuttle's force-field generator in order to provide you with sufficient quarantine force-fields for an away team, plus seven additional humanoids?"

"Something between two and four hours", Riker mused. "It took him and LaForge ninety minutes when we last needed a quantity of such nacelles aboard the ship, during the evacuation of Talarus Seven. That goes for nacelle's out of sickbay. And if I recall Dr Crusher's report on it correctly, several force-fields collapsed in the process when their power sources fluctuated within narrow parameters."

"Even two hours is too long", Picard decided, "But take the records with you, see if you can apply the nacelle program to the shuttle's system. If possible, take as many survivors on board as you can."

He left the end of the sentence dangling in the air between them, Riker would know that Starfleet personnel's life was worth more here when in doubt either way.

"I am sorry, Will, I can spare neither Mr Data nor Commander LaForge so that they'd join you", he said, "Assemble an Away Team with special weight on Medical support. Mr Data will remain as Second-In-Command while you're on your mission. And that close to Romulan and Cardassian space, we need an engineer on board."

"Do you expect an encounter with the Romulans, Sir?"

"Not exactly expecting it, Number One", Picard replied, one corner of his mouth twitching, "But I'd display an irresponsible amount of optimism not preparing for at least any... let's say, unscheduled contacts."

"I'll order Mr Data to review our secret service's most recent reports on the Cardassian's activities."

"Make it so", Picard nodded, the smile stretching across his face now. If they had not known each other so well, Riker could have mistaken it as inappropriate at had of their situation, but he knew better. The Captain simply approved of his quick thinking. Probably Picard had given these orders to data himself, but was pleased to see that Riker kept such a broad and cautious attitude.

"Any questions, Number One?"

"No, Sir."

"Depart when ready."

"Aye, Sir."

When his Number One had left, the Captain did not instantly rise from his seat as well. The sudden distrust of Starfleet Command set him on alert. Staring at the uncountable number of suns and planets, he thought when they had last been that secretive before. He could not recall a single mission. From the yawning depths of pace stars were sparkling cheekily at him.

Well, if he had to lead the crew along an unknown, dangerous path, he could at least built bridge from the stones blocking his way. Just in case they needed to make a quick and safe exit.

Besides, a healthy amount of exaggerated thoroughness could hardly be misplaced here. As Starfleet had not bothered to specifically order him not to hold a meeting in which the seniors made up their minds, he had not disregarded a command. He did not doubt that Starfleet would not be pleased to learn that he had initiated a conversation during which they could conclude almost the entire report the captains had received.

Pin younger years, Picard would have dismissed their meeting with the hint of a guilty conscience, for having circumvented their orders. Starfleet Command's intentions clearly were leaving them in the dark and unaware of the explosive nature of their mission. Yet they had sent the Enterprise because it was one of the Federation's finest vessels. If they wanted a crew led by a commander who was loyal to the amount of brainlessness, they certainly would not have placed him out here.

Eventually, Picard rose from the table and strode to the control panel next to the screen. A touch of him ended the recording of their meeting. He would add the file to both his entry in the ship's log earlier, attach it to Starfleet's orders. And store yet another copy on an isolated PADD in the desk in his quarters, just to be sure.


	5. Chapter 5

The shuttle departed at precisely 22.00 hours.

Leaving the shuttle hangar heading for sickbay, Picard pondered about whether to set the ship on yellow alert already. While in command had come to the conclusion that an early increase of alertness among fellow and, especially younger officers, could have two opposite effects on their performance if conditions worsened. Some of other commanding officers he had shared these thoughts with had concurred with his point of view. It had been those rare conversations he used to enjoy during the annual's Admiral's Dinner on earth. He wondered whether he should cancel his habit of sneaking out this ...well, meeting for next year's Dinner. One could never know if he did not stumble across a Starfleet Captain he could engage in an enriching dispute with about the indications they took into account for their decision. So far, he remembered, he had silently withdrawn his attention from conversations when it turned our that half some of the commanding officers were confronted with the attitude of enhancing transparency of their doings and decision making, which they considered a personal offense. As if something else than curiosity and reasonable distrust were from what this demand fed.

He brought his musing to an abrupt halt when he stepped into sickbay. Dr Crusher was nowhere to be seen. For a moment he was confused why that puzzled him. Then he smiled at himself, his face motionless, at how used he had become to a certain amount of disobedience by her. Assuming she had buried herself in work already, he went on to her office.

This time, she turned out predictable.

"Take a seat, Captain", she said without looking up from the PADD on her desk.

"How did you know I was coming?", Picard replied, lowering his arm, "I was about to knock."

"No harm done, my over-polite friend. I put the silent doorbell online. Sensors recognized you before I did."

Stymied, he lowered himself into the chair in front of her. Again, the silence in here made him almost uncomfortable.

"These are the readings you've picked up at the time of our arrival", she anticipated his question, finally looking up from her table. "It does not help me much, since all former data about the ecosystem has been classified recently."

He frowned.

"I don't get it either", she replied, examining his features,"They've tied a blind round our eyes and then set us to find a way through a mine field."

"So there's nothing you can tell me?"

"I didn't say that", she replied, "I took every information into account, however hard to access."

Again, the years of service in diplomacy took their toll: Despite his affection for her friendly understatements, this did not sound too comforting.

"You used restricted material." It wasn't a question.

"I couldn't have done it myself", she admitted and blushed, "But someone a lot more familiar with the structures of the storage system in our database left me a program so that I can decipher the file's binary features. With a little luck, draw the correct conclusion who was last to fuddle with those."

Somehow, he felt he could make an educated guess on who had lent her such a program.

"It does not work with our usual quantum signatures", she added, not easing his tension at all. "But with binary files, all data required to apply any restriction is laid down in numbers, zero and one..."

"I am familiar with the system of binary encoding."

"And if I identify the file in which the restriction's features are laid down, eliminate information of minor importance, I finally get a row of numbers I only need to translate into a name, a date, or whatever I've been looking for."

"That's not exactly what classification was invented for", Picard commented dryly.

"I'm not opening the present, Jean-Luc, neither do I make any random guesses about its content judging from its weight or size", she defended her tactics, "I'm merely taking a close look at the wrapping paper."

He chose not to remark on that. Instead, he made a mental note to contact Wesley Crusher for a short Captain-to-protégé talk about distributing such programs ASAP. However, remaining ignorant against her semi-legal pathway to acquire information seemed not a wise course of action.

"Did you figure you when...?"

"Not too long ago", she answered, "And, believe it or not, they've excluded _every – single – figure_ from access with other than security clearance of level three or higher."

"Can you give me the precise date on which that happened?"

She lowered her gaze and concentrated on the report before her. "Stardate 45677.2, at 09.23 hours Federation Standard time ...at Eastern North American Continent", she read out.

"Thank you, doctor." He took a moment to place this information within the shape of what was now his most sophisticated idea about their mission. "Can you draw any conclusions from the data available to you?"

She shot a fierce, alert look at him. "Some, yes."

Picard leaned against the back of his chair, prepared to listen.

"Those were horrible readings", she began, "Probably one of the worst I've ever seen. Almost the entire population perished within a month, as you informed me earlier. Except for the seven survivors we've registered, no humanoid creature has remained on the surface. Curiously, I've found no hint toward a present danger for any of our crew members. No molecular or larger parasite, bacterium, virus or whatever might possibly kill off a huge number of lifeforms. _Nothing._ And that is exactly what you've dreaded for."

"And why would I have...?"

"A disease – let's assume that for a moment – is hardly ever that selective and yet that lethal, if it's of a natural origin."

That hit him as if he had crushed into her desk at warp-speed. "Are you telling me-"

"It appears a logical conclusion", she confirmed his reaction."We are, by no means, dealing with a natural phenomenon."

Anger accompanied him all his way down to the transporter. _By no means a natural phenomenon._ In this strategically most vulnerable, gravely important edge of the universe.

It itched him to order the shuttle back immediately, as the prospective of an unknown disease of super-natural strength could hardly be reconciled with his duty to protect the crew. Picard crossed the corridors, his legs carrying him effortless to the turbolift, which would take him to the bridge.

Like a body deep down a river, which rose to the surface in the dead of night, one possible explanation began to take shape in the back of his mind.  
First, he pushed it away. Yet as if the gases in the slimy, cold corpse pushed against this hampering with power of sheer biophysics, the ideawas born into his conscience.

 _A plague, engineered and set out by the Romulans, so that the planet's open to colonization._ It would boost them into an entirely different position at all negotiation tables; the Federation could not claim the corridor as rightfully their territory. They would not be allowed any passage through the corridor. Without contact or cooperation, the systems and governments allied to them would loose support.

On his way, he added a few points on his agenda how to deal with this vacuum of information. The swift sound of doors revealing the bridge before him pulled him back to present.

"Report."

"I have completed the scan of the planet's surface, Captain", Data answered, rising from his chair in front of the major view screen and heading toward one of the science stations in the back of the bridge. Picard followed suit.

"Sensors have detected an increase of carbon-oxygenate gases by two point five percent since our last sensor sweep, temperature on all atmospheric levels remains relatively elevated, but constant since our last measurement", he informed Picard.

"Lifesigns?"

"Unaltered, Sir."

"Please elaborate."

"Seven individuals, humanoid, metabolism is dependent on sufficient amount of oxygen in the atmosphere, in this case provided by an highly developed device carried on their back", he continued, "I have no information which would allow me a conclusion concerning whether this technology matches the level of development of the native species."

"So we don't know if they're indigenous to the planet."

"No, Sir", Data answered. "However, there is one other relevant information."

"Yes, Commander?"

"I tried to gather data concerning their biosignals, but they seem to be wearing a cloth that does not permit me to gain information about tissues or metabolic components." He paused. "I identified their organisms via an indirect measurement. The atoms in their bodies fall apart with different rates and emission, which can be indicated at the subatomic level. Judging from the radiation readings, the central atomic component of their blood is iron."

"They are human", Picard summed it up. A thin, vertical shadow appeared on his forehead, barely visible to the attentive eye.

"Indeed, Sir. This does not comply with the average genetic constitution among individuals of the former population", he added.

The frown in the Captain's face deepened very fast. "What _was_ the average genetic type among the population?"

"The inhabitants seemed of mixed origin", the android's fingers flew across the control, pulling out graphical data from the computer's informational dephts, "After a survey at Stardate 43445.7 the state-own medical records included eighty-seven point five percent individual with mixed human genetic disposition. That is to say, least one relative in three generations was Romulan. The remaining thirteen percent were of higher percentage of Romulan ancestry."

"This one was conducted under the supervision of Starfleet Medical, and from people rather high up the ladder, if I recall correctly", Picard voiced, "The results served as contention of major relevance in the past negotiations about the planet's original settlers. Whereas Romulans argued, the Algeron system had first be populated by their ancestors and therefore ought to be rightfully part of the Romulan Empire, the Federation claimed the planet's population were consistent of Bajoran inhabitants. Determining the genetic set-up of it's current people posed an acceptable compromise. Mr Data, do you have any information on how the results of the negotiations were perceived among the public?"

"Accessing." Picard watched with silent delight that Data had made it a habit to let his eyes roll down a little, creating a credible impression of someone trying to recall a distant memory. "After the successful conduction of the examination, the representatives of the Romulan-rooted minority challenged the results, arguing those were no accurate measurement concerning the race of the indigenous people", he reported, "A compromise could be reached only under the condition that further research would be in order, and negotiations would be re-opened any time that the representatives requested, as soon as any results had been acquired."

"If they agreed on settling the matter based on biological factors, what did they hope to gain from further medical analysis?"

"Their renewed proposal did not focus on medical aspects, Sir", Data informed him, "The representatives demanded an archeological assessment."

Slowly, some pieces of the puzzle of their mission fell into place. Picard took a deep breath.

"Anything else that could be of interest, Mr Data?"

"Yes, Sir", Data replied, "The Romulan minority heavily criticized their representatives for accepting a member of Starfleet as mediator and responsible leader of the proceedings. Some continued to rebel against the agreement, claiming that the new research was biased to their disadvantage from the start, which lay in the hands of precisely that Starfleet member."

"I see, … Starfleet has a lot to loose here", Picard mused, "But that does not necessarily mean the officer did not fulfill his duty as impartial and fair as one could rightfully expect."

"The most vocal member of the opposition voiced that promoting Captain Utoba to the post of head of Deep Space Three offered him a chance to manipulate the searchings, out of personal, that is, out of racial identity's reasons", Data delineated.

It took the Picard a moment to grasp that information.

"Captain Utoba has been in charge of Deep Space Three since that dispute?"

"He took command at Stardate 45661.7. His promotion to chief of Deep Space Three was based explicitly on his great personal commitment for the Bajoran Empire during his service in Starfleet, so the expectations were he would perform the function outstandingly."

"What were the results?"

"The research is currently ongoing, Sir."

For the first time, Picard was really alert. Data did not seem to notice, or did not comment on it. "That is to say, it has been unfinished at the time when the planet was struck by the momentous event causing its current state."

"Thank you, Mr. Data, I'll be in my ready room. You have the bridge."


	6. Chapter 6

"Estimated time of arrival in two hours, seven minutes, Sir."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant, now come over here and help me with these suits."

"Yes, Sir." Lieutenant Simon Tarsis hurried in the back of the shuttle, where Riker had been programming their outfit for a trip to the surface: based on the force-field-transmitter Data had developed for save passage through ruptures in the space-time-continuum, they had decided to extend their capabilities. Whereas they now protected its carrier against uncontrolled aging process or consequences of discontinuities in time or space, it should be possible, Riker assumed, to replace that function with protection against any radiation signature on any atomic or subatomic level. If they did not hit solid material by falling or running into it, nor were subject to intense pressure or other rough physical influence, they should be fine. It was biogenic weaponry or radiation Riker was planning to avoid, but either did Tarsis need no specific instruction on what they were possibly dealing with or he had decided not to ask for it.

"I have cleared all data about specific space-time-discontinuities, and applications by the transmitter", Tarsis informed him, "I'm feeding it with all data about radiation anomalies."

"Probably too much", Riker mused, copying his operation in the PADD.

"I suggest we offer the program all information we have, then it can fill up gaps in specific applications later on easier, as the subroutines are part of the default mode,Commander."

"Good idea", the First Officer consented. "We should set airway filters at highest possible setting, one-way permeability, allowing only oxygen to pass in through."

"Not even nitrogen, carbon-dioxide or gases _out_?"

"For every atom we make the force-field permeable for, we create a risk of unwanted substances passing through as well. And as long as we have no data about the configuration of whatever was so lethal down there, we should keep the risk as small as possible."

"So with every breath we take, the amount of oxygen in our force-field gets smaller. That would limit our time on the surface considerably."  
"I'm afraid that's the downside of it", Riker confirmed his assumption.

"That would require an adaptation for the suit I'm wearing, Sir. My tolerance for carbon-dioxide is considerably lower than those of officers with humanoid genetics only."

"Oh", Riker looked up from his PADD in surprise, quickly glancing at Tarsis pointed ears, "Sorry about that. No offence intended."

"None taken", the young Lieutenant answered, "Since the central atomic component of my blood is copper, Sir, carbon-dioxide has potentially a much higher affinity to my blood cells."

"That is to say...?"  
"As for my ancestry is not fully human and my blood is green, Sir, I can take in less respiratory end-products before they extrude the oxygen from the sensitive receptors on the cells", Tarsis explained.

"How much can you take in?"

"Standard Federation physical examination requires sixty minutes of exercise under stress, such as these we're facing, and I passed that swiftly", the Lieutenant reassured him, "But then, we're dealing with a much higher level of carbon-based gases in this atmosphere. As I have never tried such a procedure before and both my parents were human, I am afraid I cannot say."

"Okay, let's adjust the permeability when we're on the surface", he decided, "It seems appropriate if you adjust the level and beam us up as soon as you're out of air."

"That's great responsibility, Commander..."

"It is indeed, Lieutenant." Riker's fingers rushed over the PADD for a few last configurations. "We should try a simulation and make sure they're fully functional. We'll have enough interference down there anyway."

"Sir", Tarsis asked, "I respect your obligations not to tell me much about what happened here, but I have seen the sensor readings...", he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "I have drawn the conclusion that a large amount of biological tissue must have been burnt, causing various changes in the planet's atmosphere."

Riker kept looking at him, neither confirming nor denying the young man's speculation.

"Looks like a large clearing up to me", Tarsis went on.

Half pushed by his sense of duty calling him to end this discussion, half restraint by the prospect that this Lieutenant would be out in dangerous waters with him and that he should therefore know what he would be up against, Riker decided for his restraint to be of greater importance. He did not interrupt him.

"Are we looking at another holocaust, Sir?"

The question hit him completely unprepared. "I beg your pardon?"

"I respect the Prime Directive, Sir", the Lieutenant stressed, "But with all due respect, it does not take an advanced degree in in Cultural Evolution and Development Theory, to see that this situation here is not of natural origin. A population does not just evaporate, and is exstinct, leaving all infrastructure and landscape intact. The situation here fits to the stereotype of a situation after the use of biogenetic oder biophysic weaponry."

"That's legitimate hypothesis", Riker answered in the most neutral way he could manage. He also made a mental note to offer Tarsis further tasks in research or at least ask Dr. Crusher to do so, for this analysis was remarkable considering his rank and position as an executive Medical officer.

"So I was wondering", Tarsis went on, "If we were looking at a situation after strictest application of the Prime Directive."

"Do you say, in order not to influence its natural course of development the Federation had stood beside and watched a cultural regression of such scale that the population vanishes completely in the progress?"

"Well, that's not exactly what I meant, Sir. You're talking about cultural aspects, I had biological ones in mind."

"The holocaust was the result of cultural regression. The government initiated, organized and executed the mass murder of millions for their ascribed social role. I see, the social role was relegated to variables that are of interest to biologists, and the nazis included this in their ideologic views. The supposed meaning of those variables was based on morphological features among others. So it was determined by biological or other factors immanent to biological aspects."

"My description was imprecise, Sir", Tarsis admitted, "I thought of a culture that had reached a state of development in sciences at which it has acquired the ability to _use_ bio-related weaponry. The biological factors would be mediated by cultural ones. Embedded in that culture, they might decide to apply it. On top of that, application does not necessarily include the ability to control all aspects and consequences."

"Where's the problem with that?", Riker teased him.

The young Lieutenant was pulled into passionate speech at that. "The asynchronicity of development would lead to application against marginalized people", he claimed, "And the biological aspects target anyone, anywhere, and regardless of how their status, role and position on society in constituted. Someone might be labeled inferior, less useful, with less potential than the privileged meritocrats can accept, and no institutional, social or individual factors will protect those reputedly inferior people from consequences on the _biological_ level, whereas their situation is of _social_ cause."

Riker bathed in this elaboration for a moment. He breathed it deeply. Let it stretch prickling into the very tips of his fingers.

Seldom had he heard a statement of such deep concern and compassion.

"So you were wondering, did the Federation stand by and watch while a small group of people pushed for more _lebensraum_ down the surface, because we would not interfere with their development?"

It took Tarsis a moment to get his senses back to focus on rational exchange. "I was not talking about their intentions", he added, "They might as well have opened the box of Pandora and fought ineffectively against its content."

"In essence, you were wondering whether as the regression of a population must be accepted, a relapse of such scale that it leads to extinction must be inclusively embraced as well?"

"A strict application of the Prime Directive does bear the potential of such gruesomeness, it seems to me", the young man confirmed. "From the Federations point of view, using knowledge from natural sciences to solve social problems might appear as a cultural regression to the mean, not a full relapse... the full range of biological effects might have been underestimated."

"Even if it had been a relapse", Riker said, "Strict non-interference in such a case _does_ comply with the traditional Vulcan interpretation of the Prime Directive."

"Pure logic without emotion", Tarsis summed it up.

"Exactly. We're beyond that, Lieutenant. If the Federation had been existent at times of the holocaust, they would have intervened. Regression of a population must be accepted in accordance with the Prime Directive, you're right so far, but if a population would cease to exist in case of non-intervention, infringement of this sovereignty can be justified. If we handled it otherwise, we would value the self-determination ...over existence itself."

Leaden and thick silence pressed itself upon their shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

Riker could not have stated how much time had passed when the Lieutenant announced, "Five minutes, twenty seconds until our arrival within transport range."

"Slow down to one quarter impulse, standard orbit, scan for interference with sensors and shields", Riker ordered, his fingers flying across the control in the cockpit, "program course accordingly."

"Aye, Sir."

Tarsis seemed thoroughly busy with the data on the displays before him.

Riker kept looking concentrated straight ahead, watched Tarsis still not looking up, then made a decision.

His fingers rested on the control when the alarm went off. "Sir, reception of original visual information is down to thirteen percent", he stated hastily. Finally, he raised his head. "Why is it so dark in here?"

"We have flown directly into an ash cloud, Lieutenant", Riker dissipated the young man's surprise, "Which you would have anticipated if you had used _all_ information available when you made your decisions. That includes common eyesight as well."

"Why didn't the sensors detect it?"

"You tell me, Lieutenant", Riker challenged him. "In the meantime, I'll get us out of here. Reversing course, half impulse."

Greyish clouds rushed by from all around the screen, creating an image of leaving a tunnel.

"I programmed the sensors to adjust to atmospheric conditions, and then set the parameter to indicate fluctuations and variances of more than two standard deviation units", he delineated, "Should I have set narrower limits, one unit standard deviation?"

"A good idea, Lieutenant", the First Officer acknowledged, "That would have set off the alarm considerably earlier."

The clouds were less dense now.

"That's not the solution you had in mind."

"Correct, Lieutenant."

More ash rushed by.

"I adjusted the sensors to atmospheric conditions...", Tarsis mused, apparently forming his answer just in time he spoke. A few greyish hazes crossed their screen, but the stars were visible already.

"... But as the sensors compare results to restored data from former sensor sweeps, they have adjusted the parameter automatically to the planet's standard? Which in our case does not comply with conditions in usual Class M planet's atmosphere? Is that it, Sir?"

Riker grinned in approval. "Precisely, Lieutenant. That's why you usually turn off automatic external sensor parameter adaptation when entering an unknown area", he explained. "They teach it otherwise at the academy, but it saves you a lot of trouble in advance."

"They do teach it otherwise, Sir, but I'll turn off the AESPA next time. Thank you, Commander."

"Anytime, Lieutenant. We have reached transporter range."

"Automatic parameter adaptation is offline, all systems functioning. Transporter standing by to take us down there, Sir. We will be two hundred meters far from the registered life signs."

They left their seats for the back of the shuttle, picking up their suits, a tricorder and phaser each.

"Take your emitter and place it on your arm. Phasers set on stun."

"Phaser set on stun", Tarsis confirmed his orders.

"Activate force-field."

"Force-field active."

"Energize."


	8. Chapter 8

"Captain's Log, supplemental.

The Enterprise has reached the Algeron System. Initial sensor sweeps have detected what seems to be the result of a catastrophe, which Dr Crusher has assured me, can not be of natural cause. She also informed me that the first causalties did in fact not occur on the surface, but on board the USS Hood during a diplomatic mission. Both bodies have been subjected to a thorough autopsy, which results are stored in Standard Federation database. It appears that they have been classified recently. I regret this decision, for the access to them might promote significant development in her work.

Considering our current position, I have ordered Mr LaForge to scan for any signs that might indicate the presence of a cloaked vessel and requested an update from Commander Riker. They informed me that they have successfully adapted their equipment to environmental difficulties. I am curious what they will learn from the people they're about to contact on arrival."

His plans about trying to call in a favor from Captain Desoto found no way into the ship's log. Captain Picard ended the recording and stirred his Earl Grey, his thoughts wandering. At the mentioning of Commander Riker and the shuttlecraft a deep, eerie sense had krept up his back, as if something had slipped his attention. The familiarity with the experience was rooted in his adventures as aid of Sherlock Holmes. He had felt similarly at the sight of maybe a handkerchief that bore no monogram, explicitly _not_ revealing its owner, or watching the count reading a book wrapped in sheets of a newspaper published far beyond the borders of his shire. There was a deeper meaning in it.

Minutes passed, but no idea of any enlightening effect found its way into his mind. He stirred the tea one last time. "Computer, send a message to Captain Desoto, USS Hood." He hesitated, then decided against an elevated level of priority. No need to arrest unnecessary attention. "I would welcome a discussion about the most recent developments in the area of Xenoarcheology. End transmission."

"Message send", the disembodied voice answered, "Do you wish to be informed upon reception of a reply?"

"Yes."

He hoped that Desoto would pick up his hint. He rose from his seat, allowing himself a long glance out of the window. Deep Space Three with its giant s-shape rose with sharp contrast from the background of infinite space. He knew from readings that the station could be separated in the middle of the s, quite similar to the Enterprise's saucer section. It could be operated on impulse power, with its own defense systems and light weaponry as an independent unit.

Right now, the upper edge of the s-shape turned clockwise from his point of view. Slowly and peacefully its lights twinkled toward the _Enterprise_ and him.

Picard tore his attention away from space and left his ready room, heading for the turbolift.

Halfway down to the transporter room he realized that his worry and slight tension faded in prospect of his meeting with Utoba. One might approve of the circumstances in which he had reached his current position or not. He was, after all, one of Starfleet's finest Captains in service.

A young woman with pointed ears, whom Picard recognized as Vulcan Ensign J'nui, beamed him over to Deep Space Three.

When the bluish glimmer of the transporter ray began to fade, Picard got the impression of a man who was bent forward as if in crucial pain in his stomach or depressed by loads upon his shoulders, but when the glimmer had vanished, Picard was looking at an upright, slim figure.

Utoba stepped forward, stretching out his hand. "Welcome aboard, Captain Picard, it's a pleasure to meet you. In person, after all."

His handshake felt dry and surprisingly cold. "The pleasure is mine, Captain."

"Shall we tour the station, Captain? Surely it comes as a relieve to stretch your legs on a Starbase this size."

"I'd be honored."

Utoba lead him through the widest possible circle at one end of the s-shape of the station, showing off a little here and there, but in essence his choices for a tour seemed pretty well prepared and met Picards interests. Just like a group of interested officers aboard the Enterprise, DS3 harbored committed and capable botanists, but their fosterlings flourished more colorful and in broader variety than Picard was used to. Minutes before they left the arboretum, a young Bajoran woman crossed their grit laid path and offered them to show the less prominent botanic achievements offside standard course of the tour. Her appearance was a coincidence at first glance, but Picard noticed that she had no touch of green on the cloth above her knees or any dirt beneath her nails. She sold the deception convincingly and not too bold, so that Picard felt comfortable in letting her believe he was truly impressed by their arrangement. After all, diplomacy was not one's natural habitat if one itched to pressure others for frank truths, whatever one took into account as such. Besides, their specimen of Manjuron Tree, Hadi'ga and Begna'beth flowers _were_ in an unusual good condition.

"I see you cultivate an interest in Xenobotany as well, Captain?", Utoba asked when Picard stepped back scrunching on their path and gently peeled a few last Hadi'ga tentacles from his uniform.

"Occasionally I do enjoy a walk in our own arboretum", he answered, placing the tentacles on the grit from where they rolled off toward their mother plant.

"If one of those has bitten you, our CMO will gladly give you an antitoxin."

"Thank you for your offer", Picard declined, "I'd rather continue the tour." Despite a distinct burning sensation beneath his right clavicula, the Captain was too focused on their upcoming discussion to allow a treatment postpone the meeting any further.

Thirty long minutes later they reached a corridor with two armed officers on watch every twenty meters. Utoba passed them, chose one of the entrances, Picard followed suit and moments later, they lowered themselves in two comfortable chairs at a long ornamental table.

"May I offer you something to drink, Captain? Earl Grey, perhaps?"

His pulse racing in his ears, he nodded. "Hot, if it's not too bold."

"It is not."

Utoba rose once more, fetching their drinks. For courtesy he had ordered the same from a well-staffed bar behind them. When they sat vis-à-vis again, Picard glanced quickly at his company. Utoba enjoyed the luxury of bright, grey-blue eyes, which must have always set him apart from most Bajorans. The typical wrinkles on his nose were symmetric and with even distance from one another, visually stretching his face. Along with a prominent and square jar he gave the impression of edged straightforwardness, someone you would feel acknowledged by if he was looking at you directly. _Certainly an advantage at the negotiating table,_ Picard silently added to the description.

"You must be wondering how I can be sitting here so calm when a few stars away seven people are left alone on a planet that bears an unknown, lethal danger." It was not a question.

"The thought had occurred." He took a sip of his Earl Grey. Utoba had prepared their meeting well, it was a fine blend.

"Well, their no survivors of the indigenous population."

"I know", Picard saw no reason to hide their own investigations, for he would be expected to conduct such anyway.

"You do? How?"

"My science officer has informed me that their biosignals do not resemble the native types."

Utoba quickly recovered from the surprise.

His nasobial wrinkles made it hard for Picard to determine whether the news came unpleasant or welcome.

His pulse throbbed against the back of his forehead.

"Then you must be curious about their identity", Utoba mused correctly.

Picard nodded.

"Well, as you might have guessed, they are Starfleet Personnel. A team of xenoimmunologists, to be precise."

"Do you know their mission?"

"They are down there to evaluate the biosphere's condition, with special weight on its ability to support... life", Utoba left the last word dangling in the air. "We provide them with supplies for their research. However, their last update was less than promising."

"According to our computer's information the planet has been host to humanoid lifeforms for more than two thousand years", Picard threw in, "They had developed space traveling technology only fifty years later than earth, a decade after it was discovered on Bajor."

"It is a shame, I do agree with you, Captain."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"All we have been able to reconstruct represents an educated guess."

"Please, elaborate", Picard encouraged him.

"The dying started around the time we captured a smuggler who was apparently fleeing Algeron's space", Utoba began, "She was flying a stolen shuttle, which authorities had primed us about. She offered an interesting evaluation of her situation while we held her in custody: That she had stolen the shuttle in order to transport sensitive goods which must not be allowed to fall into the authorities hand's, but should be kept and assessed by the Federation. She claimed to be prosecuted for political reasons, requested asylum and threatened that we, quote, 'would have to deal with the most regrettable decision in our lifetime', unquote, if we did not comply to her demands. I offered to look into her case. Until proven otherwise, we would treat her as a criminal and host her in the brig. She agreed."

"What did you find out?"

"We identified her as a member of the local True Heritage movement", Utoba said. "A group of dissatisfied inhabitants who disagree with the planet's Federation membership. They requested to be part of the Romulan Empire, for supposedly the planet had first been colonized by Romulans, which is nonsense, as we both know."

"Do we?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do we know which humanoid species set foot on the planet two thousand years ago?", Picard expressed his doubts, "I wasn't alive then, were you?"

Utoba busied himself with gulping down his tea, then forced himself to smile.

"I've heard about your habit to question the obvious, Picard. I am glad to enjoy your dedication with the keen mind of yours."

He did not need an empath to tell that the Bajoran was furious at his hypothesis.

"I informed Starfleet that we were anticipating a recurring phase of riots on the planet", the Utoba went on as if he had not been interrupted, "Considering their issues had not been settled by the former negotiations, I assumed they would not accept a compromise if I led another series of talks."

Picard restrained himself to half-emptying his cup.

"Starfleet send a the delegation you've registered on the surface", Utoba explained, now a little reluctant. "They examined the 'sensitive goods' the woman claimed we should keep in Federation possession for two days here. In order not to side with one faction beforehand, they decided to fully comply with the government's wishes, took the shuttle and her back to the planet and began preparations for genuine, broadly accepted proceedings."

He paused, turning his empty cup of tea in one one hand. "Forty-eight hours later the first local administration declared a state of emergency. Within a mere five days, death toll had risen to twenty percent of the planet's total number of inhabitants. We lost contact the third day after the delegation had left Deep Space. Last life signs of indigenous populations vanished after a month. So far, we know of no survivors."

Picard felt an icy stinge in his stomach. Sorrow seemed to tie his chest tightly. Stretching out for the rest of his tea, he noticed that his arms were heavier than usual. He forced himself not to think of the culture that had vanished in the blink of an eye.

The feeling did not disappear.

He was breathing hard. "Could you prove a responsibility of the True Heritage movement?", Picard asked.

"No, we did not go into further investigation of the issue." Utoba stopped twirling his cup, looking sternly at Picard. "Forgive me my boldness, Captain Picard, but are you sure you are all right?"

"I am expecting a status report of my Second-in-Command", Picard answered elusively, "I would be happy if we could continue our discussion at another time."

"Of course, Captain, I am always pleased to welcome you as my guest." They both got up, Picard felt his pulse rising beyond all healthy parameters.

"Allow me to inform your ship to beam you back directly from here", the Bajoran offered, tipping his communicator. "Transporter, stand by to beam one person aboard the Enterprise."

"Acknowledged", answered a disembodied voice.

When they shook hands, Picard noticed that his fingers were already one and a half their usual size.

"Thank you for your profound report", he coughed, "It certainly sheds some light upon our situation, and should enhance the progress of our mission considerably."

If he could still trust his senses, Utoba hesitated at that last statement. Not for the first time Picard regretted he had not insisted on the presence of Counselor Troi.

"Glad I could be of help."

"Transporter, energize."

When the familiar gleam first appeared before his eyes, Picard noticed that his surroundings seemed to oddly loose contrast at the periphery of his sight.

The throbbing in his head became unbearable.

He bend over in agony, clutching his temples. His bald head was covered in cold sweat. Then, his knees gave way.

He hit the platform hard. Sharp pain shot up his legs.

A vague composition of light and shadow appeared. A humanoid figure rushed toward him.

Every nerve, every sinew hurt, the touch of the figure almost made him vomit.

"Medical... three... are … right?"

Picard groaned in pain. _Please, some make this go away._

He could not see a thing any more. The hammering went on.

Another pair of hands grabbed him, forcing him around.

 _MAKE IT STOP!_

A rush of red and blue... then darkness wrapped itself around him.


	9. Chapter 9

"Two hundred meters in front of us, Sir", Tarsis announced. "We just need to keep going!"

"How's breathing, Lieutenant?" Riker preferred to make fewest words as possible. With every second sentence his breath sucked about a mouthful of ashes to his nostrils. Their suits worked, nothing of it crawled up his nostrils - but since they knew that those were _dead people_ they were walking through, the sensation was odd and frightening enough any way.

"Just fine, Sir", Tarsis shouted back. "One hundred eighty meters!"

Their feet sunk into grey, soft matter deep enough to cover their ankles. It was odd that it felt so smooth, and not too cold, just a bit thicker than water. Riker preferred not to deliberate on the matter. A sickening feeling which had accompanied him all the way now reached an intensity that made it impossible to distract himself from.

Just one foot further, then another.

And another.

"Fifty meters, Sir", Tarsis raised his voice. He had fallen back. Riker recognized the shimmer of his communicator about seven meters behind him. "We should see them any moment now!"

"How's breathing, Lieutenant?"

"Satisfying, Sir!"

"Probably into that rock crevice!", the First Officer proposed, "For shelter!"

"Can't locate them precisely! Scanners do not get through!"

"Let's try!", Riker decided and pulled in the young man unceremoniously.

Dead calm came upon them as a relieve. They dared to enter the cave with two blind steps, with no tricorder or light illuminating the ground.

"Commander, I am scanning..."

"Hush!"

Tarsis raised the device, but Riker forced the tricorder out of his hands.

It was still pitch black around them.

Only wind howled in gouges.

A malicious gust made him shiver.

He programmed the tricorder sightlessly to the lowest possible light emission. Tarsis was looking aghast.

Riker could not explain to him now why he had the urge to move as silently as possible. Yet he had made the experience better to act on this instinct more than once.

He signalled Tarsis to stay behind him, and listen closely.

The young man nodded. Riker took the light and tied it to his ankle.

They moved on.

The narrow path led them steeply downwards. Large rocks blocked their way repeatedly. Climbing half across and half around them made Riker feel as if they were on a road into the deepest rings of hell.

Suddenly, his feet got caught.

He kicked and dragged until he realized that it was Tarsis who had grabbed his leg. The young man pointed first at his nose, then at his chest, last he held up to fingers spread apart, slowly coming closer to each other. _Short of air._

Riker hesitated. Then he touched the transmitter, waved toward Tarsis' one and insinuated a bow. _Your decision._

The young man kept staring at him for a moment, but nodded in the end.

They crawled down further into the dark. Rocks were sharp and dry and cut their palms. Stone did not pierce through their skin for the force-field around them, but it was painful to reach for sure support.

More than once Riker felt his nails bend and tear in the end.

Blood filled the gloves of energy around them.

If it had not been for the shimmer of their suits, Riker would have fallen off the cliff right into their midst.

Tarsis crashed into him, he had not anticipated this sudden stop.

Riker grabbed his shoulder, forcing him down. Flat on all fours on the cold stone, they robbed toward the edge of the cliff.

The scene reminded him of an archaic ritual in tribal cultures, except that the six hooded figures did not hustle around a fire. A seventh lay motionless behind a larger rock about fifteen meters away from the group. The others did not address it or moved to take a look at it. Their attention seemed mesmerized by the object across the cave.

At first sight Riker thought they were looking at a giant underground palace, then realized that the columns must have been craved right from the stone itself. Their triangular shape with one plane facing the figures and the officers created the impression of outward rejection and inward dynamics. They were richly covered in symbols and graphics, none of which he recognized as of humanoid origin. Following the optical line of the two columns, he registered one large block in the midst of them. The hooded figures had installed two sources of light at each side of it, their ray of light pointing behind at something behind the alter-like block. It seemed odd, since the construction itself was also covered in icons, but they were too small to make any sense of them from here. At least not with the natural eyesight.

Riker handed the tricorder back to Tarsis, who dropped it.

All figures turned to them.

Riker whirled around to avoid the phaser blast by throwing himself on the back. Pain shot from the back of his head to his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

He heard the distinct sound of more phaser fire, this time next to him. Rays of energy flew fast above their heads, some missing only by millimeters. Riker recognized the distinct smell of burnt hair. The First officer forced himself back to face the hooded figures.

Tarsis had taken out four of them already, but the last two seemed cut from different wood; they were fighting ferociously and had reached a rock that provided them with shelter. Despite their minimal tactical advantage from height, their odds were even now.

More blasts hit the cave above them, stones rained down on them. A rather large rock hit Tarsis leg, he groaned in pain and ceased to fire.

Riker found the tricorder in the dust and checked the limb.

"It's broken, no nerves jammed, your saturation is low systemically", he informed him.

Another fire hit the ceiling above them, illuminating the scene. He got glance at the young man's face. The saturation problem was nothing new to him, his lips had a shade of blue already.

They had to hurry.

"Cover me", Riker ordered sharply. He snatched the tricorder and retreated to the back of the cliff, where the wall bore several lugs. On top of that, the cliff itself provided sufficient shelter to climb down without being fired at.

First steps were horrible; the pain in his fingers stretched to his arms and shoulders, it felt like nails being hammered into his muscles.

Two meters above the ground, he found no slopes any more to stand on. Almost screaming in pain, he climbed down hand over hand another meter and jumped.

He hit the ground hard. Phasers greeted him like fiery arms of hell.

Taking shelter behind the next large rock, he heard a muffled impact. One down, one to go.


	10. Chapter 10

"We are receiving a subspace message from the shuttlecraft _Montagnier_ ", Worf announced, "Commander Riker informs us that they have reached the surface. They have attempted several modifications to mobile force-field transmitters in order to use them as protective suits. Results were sufficient for the moment."

"Acknowledged", Data answered, "Send all available data to science station A. Bridge to Lieutenant Commander LaForge."

"LaForge here", they heard a disembodied voice after a few minutes.

"Please come to the bridge at your earliest convenience."

"Understood, I'll finish a few Heisenberg adaptations and then be right with you."

"Bridge out."

Data crossed the bridge, lowered himself in the comfortable chair and accessed the summary of Rikers experiment. The flaw in it was obvious.

"Mr Worf, please prepare to transport crewman Tarsis and Commander Riker to sickbay as soon as they are in transport range, tow in the shuttle by tractor beam."

"I will hold a lock on them as soon as possible", the Klingon answered, bending over the control.

"They are not in trouble, are they?"

LaForge stepped behind Data almost silently.

"I'd rather establish a safety net before we need it", the android commented, "Take a look at this", and moved aside to make way for the chief engineer.

It took him only a few minutes longer than the android to grasp the content of the display.

"All right, this should work at least", he summed them up, "Does not mean there's no room for some improvement. We could try a..."

"Commander, sensors have picked up tachyon emissions", Ensign Ro raised her voice from navigational control.

"Ensign, what is the exact amount and source of the emissions?"  
"Amount is thirty five point one Bequerel per cubic meter, source is estimated sevenhundred kilometers before us, Sir", she read out.

Data crossed the bridge, past Counselor Troi at the left hand side and seated himself in the middle chair. "Yellow alert. Send a message to transporter room that Captain's Picard presence on the bridge is required upon time of arrival."

"Message send", Worf answered from behind his back. The higher frequency of sharp consonants, Data noticed, indicated his vigilance.

"Display sensor readings on screen", the android ordered, and a cluster appeared in front of them, "Mark tachyon emission above five Becquerel per cubic meter."

"Looks like a trail of breadcrums", Deanna raised her voice.

"It does bear a resemblance to an intentionally created pattern", Data agreed. "However, that does not mean that is is exactly us whom this pattern should provide with a way home."

"Commander, tachyon emissions are a standard residual by-product of Romulan cloaking device", Worf interrupted impatiently, "We must assume that there is a cloaked vessel at least within sensor range."

"Standard emissions of an enabled cloaking device do not register beneath the amount of one hundred eighty Becquerel per cubic meter", the android objected. "Ensign, load all information on substance and components of Romulan ships, and scan for them."

"Aye, Sir", Ro answered, "Adjusting search pattern... sensors are fully operational", she concluded. "We are picking up decaying components of a warbird's hull, seventy thousand particles per cubic meter, and impulse engines, three and a half thousand per qm", the young woman reported. "Whatever ship was were, it must have sustained heavy damage."

"That would be my interpretation as well, Ensign", Data confirmed her hypothesis. "Cease yellow alert. Set course to estimated source of emissions. Match speed with the rate of decay, maintain equal amount of sensory input. Choose speed accordingly."

"Following the breadcrums", Deanna summed it up.

"Course plotted and laid in", Ro answered over her rushing fingers, "I am unable to determine a variable for speed as you ordered."

"Try a Fourier analysis of the spots within sensor range and use the average to adjust speed", Wesley Crusher offered from the helm, "Don't forget to analyze them separately."

The young woman looked straightly at him. "Thank you, Ensign." Wesley obviously took her extravertedness for kindness. However, the decrease in distance of her nasobial wrinkels by fifteen percent probably registered in Data's sight only.

"I could implement the analysis in a navigational sub-routine", Crusher offered, "You would have to set the parameters for minimum and maximum speed and determine the number of variables you'd want to assign weight to."

"Make it so", Data agreed.

"How do I know which value to assign to the variable?"

"The number of locations with emissions. If tachyon particles are constantly decaying, imagine a graph would link them and choose several points on it. You can set parameters for min and max emission as well..."

"Great, thank you, Ensign", Ro had turned back to facing the controls. The android could not see her face nor had he picked up anything unusual in her speech pattern. Yet if his hypothesis about her character was still adequate, there should be some reaction within the next few seconds.

"Course still plotted. Speed approximately three quarters impulse", Ro finally reported.

"Engage."

Deanna raised an eyebrow at the margin of his visual area. Direction of her gaze and hidden gnaw of underlip indicated a causal link to the Ensign's inner processes.

He took that into account as a supporting, but not proving hint to his concept.

"Crusher to bridge."

"Bridge here", Data responded.

"I must inform you that Captian Picard has returned from Deep Space Three and is undergoing emergency medical treatment. His condition is critical. I'll inform you when...", she paused, "As soon as his condition allows any reasonable prognosis", she finished her sentence. "Sickbay out."

All heads turned to Data.

 _Any_ reasonable prognosis?, LaForge repeated silently, so only the android could read his lips, Does it mean what I think it does?


End file.
